Thursday, March 12, 2015


I got off early one day recently. It was warm, even for my taste. Still, I drove with the moon roof open and driver's side window down. There is something about having the wind in my face and whipping my hair around and feeling the steam of the sun on my skin that pleases me. I stopped at a light and noticed several birds with large wingspans floating above me. They appeared to be floating for pleasure... I've never thought of birds being self-serving in any way, but I guess if hanging in the sky against the breeze felt good, I'd do it too if I were able. One bird relied heavily on his right wing; his left looked damaged... maybe due to some vicious bird fight. I stared up at him, guarded my eyes from the sun, and I was jealous. He is wounded, but compensates. Maybe he doesn't know he's at a disadvantage. I'm willing to bet he keeps up with the other birds just fine, and does not look to them with envy. And, they probably don't see a broken wing. I've wanted to be a bird (not uncommon I guess). I can't imagine that sort of freedom. Not just the freedom of flight, but freedom from logical thought also. I think it tortures me, or I torture it. Either way, the pain exists. The point is I guess that I’m going to stop looking at myself as though I have a disadvantage, and learn to fly with my broken wings. I’m certain they’ll mend at some point, even if scars still exist.

Self-pity by D.H. Lawrence


I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.